


Admiration

by gxlden



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Companion Piece, M/M, POV First Person, Riding, Sebastian is rather wordy when it comes to praising his young master evidently, Sebastian playing with his food, Shota, Underage - Freeform, sebastian POV, the two do enjoy their games, uncharacteristically tender sex explained
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-09-30 13:29:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10164017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gxlden/pseuds/gxlden
Summary: What was going through the butler's mind as he held his young master so carefully, embracing him so tenderly? A peek into a demon's mind as he takes his time with the earl of Phantomhive. Companion piece to "Wonder."





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a companion piece to my other fic, ["Wonder,"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8226650) which is written from Ciel's POV. This time, we get to see what Sebastian was playing at. Please enjoy.

My master is a troubling individual. He claims he is not a child, and this may be true, but he is certainly not an adult. Prideful and precocious, goading and enticing in every way, he wears away at my self-control day after day until I am in danger of shattering this human façade and devouring him like the hungry beast that I am. But I would not have it any other way.  


He called to me all day long, for the most trivial of matters. I was rather busy preparing dinner for our guest, and the young master knew this, but he still called me to him incessantly for this or that. At the beginning, I took it to be simply another one of his games, but as the day progressed, I became somewhat certain that is not all it was -- it felt as if he needed me, craved me, my attention, but was at a loss as to how to get it. So he called me to retie the ribbon at his neck, or prepare a fresh pot of tea because he had waited too long to finish his first cup and the drink had grown tepid and undrinkable. How badly did I wish to take his cherubic little face in my hands and kiss those luscious little lips and reassure my little master that I am here, for him, and I will be, until the very end. There is no need for him to worry.  


Regardless of whether or not he really wanted me, needed me, I spent all day tending to his frivolous demands, and spread myself rather thin, even by my standards. And now, it is time for me to take my reward. It is nothing so malicious - my young master calls for me tonight as he usually does, and I will service him as I usually do, but this time, I will do it my way.  


What is the expression -- to kill two birds with one stone?  


I can take him how I want him -- carefully; slow and deep so that he may really feel every inch of me inside him, and I may truly revel in how marvelously warm and tight my young master is. And at the same time, it will drive him mad, for I know that is not how he likes it -- the wonderful little tyrant prefers me unhinged and inhuman, with my teeth against his skin and his trim little fingernails raking down my back to leave red furrows beneath my shirt in his wake. With the mood he is in, he will not give in to me so easily, and tell me that he needs me. He will cling to that noble pride of his and take whatever I give him, not stooping so low as to beg for me to ravish him, to devour him, to deliver him to the ephemeral plane of pleasure and desire to which only I can take him.  


It is wonderful to watch the little imp furrow his noble brow at me as I undo the buttons on my waistcoat, and then on the shirt underneath. He raises an eyebrow as I pull the garments from my shoulders, undo the belt and buttons at my waist, and let them all drop to the floor at my feet. Surprisingly, that petulant little mouth stays closed. Have I stunned him into silence somehow? Perhaps my nudity is strange -- it has been quite some time since I last presented myself before him in such a manner.  


Even better for this occasion then.  


The young master is already naked, his nightshirt crumpled and discarded at the edge of the bed, and I can see the perspiration collecting and gleaming on his porcelain skin. He is hot and bothered and it is oh so delicious. His need is palpable and I can see it reflected in that beautifully marred eye -- how badly he wants me to touch him, to taste him, to force my fingers into him and spread him open for me. He finds some strange pleasure in knowing how badly I desire his soul, and the somewhat brutish way that I handle his naked form in my aroused state is utterly exhilarating to the boy.  


Every minute my hands remain on him, wandering over his delectable body without slipping inside is torture to my young master. But what fun it is to drive him mad like this! To watch him sweat and stare at me as I continue my ministrations, his frustration flooding through his body and making him tingle beneath my fingertips. Looking at his slender form quivering under my hands gives me a sudden pause -- my master is so fragile, so undeniably human. I could easily break this boy in two with these hands, we are both aware of this, but he never falters, never hesitates. Always, he asks for more -- begs for it, demands it. Of course I oblige, giving him exactly what he wants. My young master always gets what he wants.  


Except for tonight. I know he is frustrated, unsatisfied with the pace I have set and the way I clutch him to me so tenderly. The look on his face is too valuable to let slip away by giving him exactly what he wants. I can see the gears working in his head as he tries to figure out what it is I am playing at. Oh, young master, there is no game so obvious here. Always, I think of you, of your well-being, but for once (and I hope you will forgive me for this), I am thinking of myself. Thinking of how wonderful it feels to have this warm, pliable body wrapped around me; his skin, still smelling of lavender from his bath, unbelievably soft beneath my touch. The young master’s body is much more honest than he ever is, and while he struggles to keep quiet, to remain focused on solving this mystery, I can feel that he likes it, and that this fact is driving him mad. He does not want to like it, does not want to enjoy the way I kiss him so tenderly and dare I say lovingly, but he does not want to stoop so low as to ask me for what he really wants me to do to him, not tonight.  


Burning brighter than the sun, this tumultuous soul nearly threatens to blind me, more so than I already am. I cannot deny this boy has me wrapped around his finger, and I am not displeased with this; there is nothing I would not do for this one, if only to ensure the highest quality of my meal. This one is special, I knew it the moment he assumed his title and leapt headfirst into the dark abyss of depravity and revenge. Even as he squirms in my grasp, unsettled by my slow intrusion into his warm, welcoming body, refusing to ask me for what he wants, I know that there will never be another like him.  


In that deceivingly sweet voice, like that of an angel, he calls to me. The inhuman sound that escapes me is not one I am proud of -- I am holding back, I’m sure we are both aware, and as my resolve wears down I cannot help but moan against his neck, every fiber of my being straining to keep me in check. My little lord feels so good, and every one of my ascribed human senses is flooded with him. The sound of my name on his lips, his whimpers and gasps as I slide my cock in and out; the taste of him on my tongue; the feeling of his skin on my cheek, my hands; the mere sight of those large wondrous eyes, staring at me as they fog with pleasure. And then, he is calling to me again, over and over, my name the only coherent thought he can form.  


“Sebastian.”  


It is strange to not answer, and my nerves are strumming out in protest with the strength of our contract. Yet I am right here, my arms wrapped around him, his breath dancing over my fake human skin as I fill him so thoroughly and deeply I fear we may be lost in one another. His skin is so soft against my cheek, but I withdraw far enough that I may look into that cherubic face as he speaks to me. I am glad that I do so. When I lock onto those big, round eyes, I see him falter, ever so slightly at first, and then his face crumples completely; he licks his lips and opens his mouth as he moans and whimpers, tossing his head back and tugging harshly on my hair, dragging his nails down my spine.  


His voice is so alluring and sweet -- a lesser being would have given in long ago. Despite my appearance now, I am no ordinary man lost in the throes of pleasure. I am an ancient and mythical creature, a monster that thrives on despair and depravity, a rabid beast from the pits of hell, and still I cannot help but groan as this appealing little boy calls to me in such a way. It is taking everything within me not to turn him over and ravage him like the monster that I am.  


He asks me what has gotten into me, and I am not lying when I shrug as if I do not know, for I myself could not exactly describe what has come over me. I can understand why this confuses him. Though it is not an extremely challenging feat for me, acting in such a gentle way is simply not in my nature. I as well prefer to take my little lord fast, and hard, and as deep as his body is able to handle, but I can make this transition without a problem. No matter which way I take him, the young master always feels incredible as he twines his legs about me and buries his hands in my hair, his inner muscles gripping me as if he doesn’t want to let me go.  


I feel as if I must be gentle with him now, taking my time to caress and admire him. Why, it is indeed a wonder. Every minute of my every day is filled with him -- dressing him, bathing him, feeding him, serving him. When I am not with my young master, my thoughts still center around him -- what clothing he will wear tomorrow, which lessons he has yet to learn, what tea he will drink and what he will eat and on what dishware.  


I kiss him, quite feverishly, drawing the air from him as if every breath I deign to take while masquerading about this mortal coil must begin and end with him.  


He is nearly delirious beneath me, his body straining against me as I slide in and out of him with slow, purposeful strokes. I hear his voice drop as he murmurs out a simple, _"Please,"_ and this is the only time I see him waver. I can taste his agitation and his ecstasy when I kiss his skin, damp with perspiration and tingling with unfulfilled need. The same tingle runs along my extremities and burns in my left hand and I open my mouth to push him just a little bit further.  


I tell him he is beautiful, which he is, and one of those small, ineffectual hands disentangles from my hair to slap me across the face.  


“Enough,” he says. It is a wonder I am able to maintain my composure as my little lord continues to surprise me. I wait with bated breath for him to give me an order, to demand that I stop this nonsense and take him like I mean it. Instead, he commands me to stop moving altogether, and I can feel both of our bodies treble with confusion as I do so. But he has given me an order -- what choice do I have?  


His imperious little hands grab onto my shoulders, pushing with all his might until I withdraw and allow him to roll me onto my back. With a judicious glance, flashing those beautifully mismatched eyes at me, my young master huffs and clambers onto my lap. Despite my attempt at slow, gentle movements, the boy is still panting, though not hard enough for me to worry, and he is surprisingly sweaty, I must admit. I make a mental note to myself to watch my own body temperature so I do not overheat him before he braces himself and, still holding me in that vicious blue gaze, resettles himself on my length. He’s somewhat clumsy as he brings his body down onto me, but I slide back in with ease, seeing as I’m still quite hard and he is still ready to accept me, both of us slick with warm almond oil. I can’t help but stare – the sight is transfixing, how his petite little body swallows up so much of me. He must feel me twitch inside him – he glares at me as he begins to move his hips. I lay still, my head tilted forward so I can see it all as he rides me, bouncing up and down on my stiff cock. My young master, brilliant and vexing as he may be, has next to no sense of rhythm or pace – he speeds up, he slows down, he swivels those damnable and delicious hips this way and that. Typically, I guide him as he rides me, my hands wrapped around that perfectly trim waist, lifting him up and down in time with my own jerking hips so that I am sure to strike him inside in the most pleasing of ways.  


But tonight, I am content just to watch, letting him take control, take what he wants, though my hands stay locked about his waist. It is such a marvelous thing to watch him come unraveled; I can see he becomes more frustrated with every other thrust, grunting over and over until he releases such a delicious squeal I must be careful not to consume him right there. He’s found the spot, the angle at which I penetrate and fill him so perfectly, never mind that I was made for him. I realize that I have let my nails grow long and pointed, and they dig nicely into his skin, though I doubt he has noticed – he’s already begun to touch himself, and what a treat it is to watch.  


The way he slips his hand around his shaft, spilling a little onto his fingers as he plays with the tip; how he squeezes and pumps his hand, growling and biting his lip as the pressure builds and he grows slightly frantic. He may be angry with me that I’ve left him to his own devices, chasing that exuberant high all on his own as he rides me so delightfully, but he says nothing, and forgoes glaring at me to close his eyes and toss his head back, moaning around the sounds of my name. I want to sit up and sink my teeth into that perfectly shaped neck, pierce the soft fragrant skin and drink until I’ve had my fill. I can feel his excitement growing, sense him as he gets closer to his climax, trembling on top of me until he finishes with a beautiful whimper and spills into his hand, dripping some of the sacred fluid onto my stomach.  


What a good boy.  


He is so beautiful when he comes, so tempting with his cherubic face scrunched up with pleasure, emanating an aroma of arousal and depravity that makes my mouth water. I watch as he goes limp, his legs come out from under him, and he leans back, ready to crumble and fall between my legs, and I decide that we have both had enough of this game. In an instant I have him in my clutches, wrapped securely in my arms, my twitching cock still buried inside of him. I can’t help but laugh as I clutch him to me. He is mine. In case he does not already know, I share with him how lucky I am to have him, such a vibrant and tyrannical little prince, as my master. I exist because of him, and I do not need to tell him this, because he knows it to be true; he, too, exists only because of me.  


It is easy to turn us over, back to how we began, with the little imp on his back and myself looming above him, without ever pulling out. I bite his lip, sharp how he likes it, and push his thighs up into his chest, his ankles at my shoulders to allow for deeper penetration, which I also know he likes.  


“You never fail to surprise me,” I growl. I admire his tenacity, how he refuses to beg for me though we both know his body and mind are screaming at him to do so. The flinty little boy took matters into his own hands, quite literally, and it was a beautiful thing to witness. To reward him, I move my hips in the way he favors – quickly, withdrawing until just the tip remains inside and then driving in, deeply, to satisfy the tingle I’ve built up with my teasing. His hand fits so perfectly in mine; I scoop up his little fist, wet with his cum, and bring it my mouth so I can have a taste. Through his lashes, he squints up at me, breathing hard as I drag my tongue over his palm, the tips of his fingers. Thankfully, he removed his rings before his bath earlier, so I do not have to worry about soiling the precious metal adornments with his seed or my saliva. I chuckle as I slide his thumb into my mouth and I notice his cock stir once more. To my surprise, he tugs his hand out of my mouth and grips my face, curling those delightfully warm and prodding fingers around my chin. I let him turn my face this way and that, letting him examine my features, as if there is some great secret hidden there, the reason for my unnatural behavior written into the line of my jaw or the curve of my carefully contrived cheekbones.  


No, young master, there is no such message for you here. There is only admiration, delight in my scarlet eyes at having you as my master. You, who never fails to surprise me, who changed me from a rabid beast to a butler, who enthralls me each and every day as we play this game of master and servant; you who strides stoically into hell, never once looking back, simply entrusting me to guide you down this path of darkness to your final destination. My young master, for you, I will do this and so much more.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I appreciate any and all feedback. You can drop me a line on tumblr too nominalbutler.tumblr.com


End file.
